


Whip

by Teland



Series: you and I will walk together again [3]
Category: DCU (Comics), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blood Drinking, Collars, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dogboys & Doggirls, F/M, Face Slapping, Families of Choice, First Time, Frottage, Genital Torture, Hair-pulling, Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Pseudo-Incest, Romance, Telepathy, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 01:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6064930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sir, I've always wanted to kneel to *you*." </p><p>"Always —" Laurent grunts a laugh. "You truly must stop making me need to *destroy everything around me*."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is totally how foreplay works.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts), [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Not mine, except for what is.
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: No spoilers, takes place pre-series. 
> 
> Author's Note: I pretty much immediately realized that the you and I will walk together again series was going to be a mess in terms of how everything pulled together temporally -- it's likely to be a multiverse -- but, for now, consider it to be a collection of loosely-connected stories that start with Favours. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Much love to Pixie, Melly, Spice, Greyandgold, Sergei, and, of course, my Jack, for audiencing, encouragement, hand-holding, helpful suggestions, and all the things that keep this machine rolling. Pixie also helped me say what my *writer* wanted to say, as opposed to what my *temper* wanted to say, and that will always be invaluable.

Treville can't say he doesn't know what he's doing — that's the thought that's been rattling round his brain all morning, and, ironically, distracting him from what he's doing. 

From what's in his saddlebag. 

From what he's bringing to Laurent's office. 

He — 

("Well, amant, you were unconscious when your Captain and I had the conversation, which, I think you can see, is less than optimal —" 

"Just — just tell me —") 

And Jason had crossed his long legs in his chair before the fire in Treville's library — 

Jason had grinned like a bloody *wolf* — 

Jason had lolled that long and *thick* demonic tongue — 

("Oh, you arse —" 

"All right, I'll stop. You know perfectly well what your Captain had to say about you wanting more from him — and I daresay you know perfectly well what he had to say about you leaving *me* to say it to him.") 

And Treville had grunted — 

*Paused* in his pacing — 

("I know, I know; you were *going* to tell him... but perhaps you can understand his... pique that it took you half your *life* to even choose a *surrogate*."

"He's... angry." 

"Oh, yes.") 

And Jason had sipped his wine, tossed his hair, and grinned — 

("Whatever will you do about that, amant?") 

This. 

He'll do this, because — 

Because. 

Because they don't allow whipping for the men or the animals, either here at the garrison *or* at his manor, but sometimes a man gets hired who doesn't understand that. 

And certain items get confiscated. 

And Treville has kept this one — 

This *whip* — 

Ah, fuck — 

Ah, fuck, is he *really* — 

But. 

He'd deliberately bowed out of guard duty at the palace today — light duty that's given as a reward to the regiment's best men. 

He'd answered Kitos's and Reynard's questioning looks with a mouthed 'Laurent'. 

He'd ignored their *incredibly* unsubtle cheering and slaps on the — well, everywhere. 

He'd -- 

Kitos, especially, has been *pushing* him to talk to Laurent. He'd started *every* recent conversation that way -- including the one in which Treville had been working to explain how badly he wanted *Kitos*. 

That conversation had eventually gone very well, indeed, and -- 

And.

The whip feels like a burning brand in his saddlebag. 

It — 

Everyone is staring at him as he carries the bag out of the stables. 

As he walks across the practice fields with it — 

As he walks up these stairs — 

One after another after — 

Fuck, fuck — 

(Amant. Would you like to be calmer?) 

What — how — are you. Here? 

(Not in the least. But our bond is very, very strong.) 

*How* — 

(Have you not thought about the fact that you can summon me quite literally across the *spheres*?) 

Treville stops dead on the walk. 

The whip continues to burn in his saddlebag. 

Jason laughs himself sick in Treville's — soul. It — 

You could consider kissing my arse. 

(I love you very, very much...) 

You're still laughing at me. 

(Children are often amusing...) 

Kindly take up your new occupation of licking my taint. 

(Gladly...) 

I — I've just realized how many of my curses involve eating my arse. 

(It's one of your most charming traits, as far as I'm concerned. How are you feeling?) 

Treville blinks — 

Realizes Laurent is standing right in front of him, looking down at him from that annoyingly impressive height — 

And realizes — 

I feel better. Thank you. 

(You're welcome. Please do enjoy yourself while you're getting the hiding of a lifetime.) 

And — Treville's knees are watery again. 

Still — 

Fuck — 

Laurent narrows his eyes. "Brother. What's wrong? What have you brought me? Why didn't you want to go to the palace today?" 

"I —" His voice is a *croak* — 

Fuck — 

He has to do *better* than *this* — 

Laurent *grips* him by the arm the way he used to when Treville was a boy — 

"*Fuck*, Laurent —" 

"*Treville* —" 

"If you're going to call me out for mucking up discipline, then —" But he can't finish that sentence. He can't — "Brother. Take me inside. Please." 

Laurent searches him — "Is this about..." And then he narrows his eyes. "Inside," he says, hard and sharp and Treville's cock shouldn't be *jerking* like this — 

But then, Laurent shouldn't be hauling him like a bloody *puppy*. 

It — 

But it's terrible when he lets go. 

When he goes back behind his *desk* — 

Treville is *panting* — 

Laurent looks *up* — "Are you *ill*? Is that why —" 

"I'm not. I'm not ill." 

Laurent frowns and searches him — 

Grips the chair like he wants to grip *Treville* again, and fuck, fuck, Treville wants him to. 

Wants him to do it hard, to do it *bruisingly* — 

"— *Treville*." 

He snaps his head *up*, tearing his gaze away from that big hand — 

"Where is your *mind* today, brother? Are you — is this some sort of magical —" 

Treville laughs helplessly — 

"Don't *laugh* at me!" 

It pulls Treville up *short* — 

He *blinks* — 

"Laurent? I — what —" 

Laurent — growls, low and angry and — "You have your — your *lover* tell me that you *desire* me —" 

"I didn't —" 

" — and then you say *nothing*! For *days*!" 

Treville *grunts* and shakes his head — 

"Are you *denying* this? Are you saying you didn't have a — a *laugh* —" And Laurent growls again and cuts himself off, covering his *face* — 

The scents of his hurt, his anger, his *bewilderment* rise like *smoke* — 

Treville whuffs helplessly — 

"What — what are you —" 

Treville *whines* — and drops to his knees. 

Laurent blinks and stares — 

Shakes his head — 

"No — no, you're not — you won't — you won't *do* this to me —" 

Treville whines more — 

He can't bloody *stop* himself from whining — no, no, he opens the saddlebag and pulls out the whip, he — 

"What? Has Arnaud been abusing our horses? The stableboys? I know he's not... adequate —" 

Treville whines *more* as he proffers the whip — no, words, *words*. "It's — it's *mine*. It's for *me*." 

Laurent stares at him. 

Just — stares. 

He — 

But. 

The scents of his confusion *don't* rise. 

The scents of his bewilderment — don't rise. 

The scents of his hunger do. 

"Explain yourself, brother," he says, slow and — hard. 

Treville *pants* — "I wanted — Jason told me you were *angry* with me —"

"I was. I am. I *will* be. More." 

"I've. I've always wanted your. Correction," Treville says, and he's blind with it, starved, he can't — 

He thinks the office could turn bloody *purple* and he wouldn't *notice*, but — 

"I've always wanted *you*." 

"Are those the same things in your mind." 

Treville groans — 

"*Answer*." 

"Sometimes! Please —" 

"When are they the same." 

And suddenly Treville is fourteen again, fourteen and on his back in the bedroll he'd carted from the recruits' tent to Laurent's, fourteen and tossing himself off to question — 

("But are you always that rough with yourself, Treville?") 

After question — 

("Does that make it better?") 

After *question* — 

("Why?") 

After — 

"*Treville*." 

"I'm sorry! I was — " 

"I didn't ask you what you were doing." 

Treville grunts — 

He feels like he's been *slapped* — 

He feels... so ready for exactly this. Fuck. 

*Fuck*. 

Jason didn't say that this got *easier* with practice — 

Jason didn't say that it got — got *faster* — 

And Laurent is walking around him — 

Looking down at him — 

Touching the back of his *neck* — 

Treville shivers — and lowers his head. 

Laurent pants. "When, Treville." 

"I —" 

"When does desiring *me* become the same as desiring my discipline?" 

"Oh — fuck, Laurent, I —" 

"Don't hesitate. Don't stall. Simply answer my questions." 

Treville *pants* — 

And blushes. 

And. "Yes, sir," he says, quietly — 

Laurent grunts. He — 

Treville has never sirred him in private. Not — 

Not and *meant* it. But — Laurent doesn't stop him. Laurent doesn't *correct* him. 

Treville licks his lips. "I want your correction... when I feel... wrong, sir." 

Laurent presses his fingers to Treville's nape — 

Presses *hard* — 

Treville *swallows* —

"Be more specific, recruit," Laurent says, and sounds... not calmer. Not — or. He sounds hungrier and more *focused* —

Treville isn't sure — "Sir... I... I don't know if I should —" 

"You should do everything I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, *how* I tell you to do it." 

*Treville* grunts — "Yes, sir —" 

"But what was your objection...?" 

"You were — upset, sir —" 

"I am upset. I am... there is a great difficulty inside me, recruit." 

"Sir — brother —" 

"Shh. We're going to solve it together," Laurent says, and *cups* the back of Treville's neck — 

Treville leans into it without thinking — 

"You like that." 

"Yes, sir —" 

"From me? Or from anyone who's allowed to *touch* you." 

Treville moans. "I — it means different things. From different people." 

"Does it." 

"Yes, sir —" 

"What does it mean from — Ser Jason." 

Was there going to be something else there? Something spat instead of spoken? Treville licks his lips. "If he's touching me there with his hand, it's... a caress —" 

"What *else* does he touch you there with." 

"His... shadows, sir. Have you seen —" 

"I've seen them. He... uses them that way?" 

A question mark? "Yes, sir —" 

Laurent pauses — Treville can all but taste it in his *bones* — 

He paces — 

He stops all the way across the *room* — "It would be... incorrect for you to not be made aware of my jealousy. Of the extent of it," Laurent says, and — 

Treville tries to breathe around the *rock* in his throat — 

Laurent is still all the way over *there* — 

Treville can't *see* him — 

"You need to understand, brother. It would've been one thing to continue living without you, and even watching you take up with ludicrously powerful British *witches* —" Laurent inhales sharply. And then exhales with a shudder. "But then you were injured in a magical battle you've yet to adequately *explain* to me.

"And then, in the course of your *lover's* *inadequate* explanation, came the news that you desired me. That you had desired me for."

*Something* near Laurent — snaps. 

Just — 

And Laurent growls, long and low and *hard*.

Treville lowers his head *farther* — 

"In your *paradigm*. Do brothers keep secrets from each other?" 

Treville *moans* — 

"Do they?" 

"No, sir, they —" 

"Then why." 

"Because. Because when I asked you for a kiss —" 

"Because my response was inadequate. Because my." 

Something else snaps. 

There's a sound of parchment falling to the floor — 

Treville's cock *spasms* — 

He — no.

He *drops*, lowering his head to the floor, stretching his arms in front of him with the whip in his hands, and staying, just staying, just *staying* — 

"*Treville*." 

"Sir. I'm yours." 

"You are *not*. You — you belong to Reynard, to Kitos, to — to." 

"You hate the very sound of his name. But — please understand one thing. *One*," Treville says, panting. "It was him who opened my eyes. It was him who let me realize that even though all three of you *rejected* me when I tried with you —" 

"I *didn't* —" 

"It *felt* that way. I *swear* to you that it did. That it bloody ripped me *open*, *sir*," Treville says. "Please. Let me finish." 

"I... want to smash this office apart." 

Treville closes his eyes. "Because you can't smash my face apart?" 

"*Treville* —" 

"Sir." 

"Finish. *Finish*. What did he *do* for you that I — that we —" 

"I was blind, sir. I was... lost —" 

"*No* —" 

"Yes, sir," Treville says. "I was... utterly convinced that the only thing that would keep me from dying alone would be the *charity* of some hypothetical *whore* —" 

"*Damn* you —" 

"I couldn't *see* what you were offering me with every *breath*, sir. I couldn't see —" 

"What Reynard and Kitos were offering. You — that's why you didn't... take." And Laurent's voice is quieter. More thoughtful. 

Something wooden is still creaking over there, though. 

Treville waits. 

He — waits, and he stays *down*, and he — 

"How did he open your eyes." 

"He put me on my knees, sir." 

"Like you are now?" 

"No — it was different, sir. I fought him —" 

"He *raped* you?" 

Now how, precisely, to answer *that* question. "I... wouldn't say that? Sir." 

Laurent *roars* a growl and *yanks* him up by the *hair* — 

"*Fuck*, sir —" 

"Did he *hurt* you!" 

Treville is, occasionally, a *smart* dog. Right now, as an example, he recognizes that he has one chance — *maybe* one and an eighth — to get this right before the furies are unleashed, and *not* on his arse. 

So. 

"Sir. He didn't do anything I didn't want him to do," he says, slowly and calmly and *quietly*. 

"But." 

"He didn't. Do anything. I didn't want him to do. Sir." 

Laurent *grips* his hair — 

Treville *grunts* — 

"You're not *telling* me everything!" 

"I'm going to tell you everything right now, sir. I — I apologize for not thinking, not realizing you'd need that, before —" 

"You. Tell me. *Tell* me." 

"I wanted to submit to him. I wanted to be in his *power* —" 

Laurent growls *hard* — 

"Sir —" 

"Don't *stop*, Treville!" 

"Yes, sir. I wanted it. *Badly*. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't... bend." 

"So he —" 

"I asked him to help me. He *offered*... suggestions. One of them was rape." 

"How — how could that — *no*."

"Sir. I had to ask for it. And, eventually, I did." 

"Did he *coerce* you?" 

"Only in the way any man coerces a lover into doing something they're not sure of, sir." 

"What — what *is* that*?" 

And then Treville remembers who he's *talking* to — "He made me feel good. Good in my *skin*. He made me need... absolutely everything. He made it feel *proper* to bend." 

Laurent's hand *shakes* in Treville's hair — "More." 

"Sir?" 

"What happened... after you agreed to let him... rape you." 

"He... had me, sir. And even when I wasn't sure of something, or didn't want to hear things he was telling me — things about how much my brothers loved me — I still had to take it. All of it." 

Laurent *grips* his hair again. "You enjoyed that." 

"It was overwhelming, sir. It was... what I needed, that day." 

"That day." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Not every time the two of you are together?" 

Treville laughs ruefully. "No, sir. I still put up a fight, here and there, but... my body remembers how good Jason can be to it. My *mind* does. My *soul* does. I... can give in."

"And he taught you. He taught you this? How to kneel?"

Treville blinks — 

Realizes — 

"Sir, I've always wanted to kneel to *you*." 

"Always —" Laurent grunts a laugh. "You truly must stop making me need to *destroy everything around me*." 

"I'm sorry —" 

"Do you mean to say — since you were *fourteen*?" 

Treville licks his lips — 

"Don't *hesitate*." 

"Do you want me to answer that *question*, sir?" 

"I want you to answer every question I *ask* you, then go back and start over in more *detail*." 

Well, that was clear, and, in the end, Treville doesn't give a toss in a chamberpot for the sanctity of this office. 

So. 

"Every last time you ordered me into your tent, sir, I dreamed of you closing the flap behind you and ordering me down onto my *knees* so I could *serve* you." 

For a moment, the only sound is that of Laurent — panting. 

Breathing so *roughly* — 

So — so *raggedly* — 

Treville *tries* to hang his head again — 

"Don't. Move." 

Treville moans. "Yes, sir." 

"Don't —" Laurent growls again — "Reynard." 

"Yes, sir?" 

"He serves *you*." 

("Don't you think..." 

"Mm?" 

"Don't you think it is time for mon chéri to use me like the filthy whore I am...?") 

And Reynard had been smiling wickedly from the bed, naked and shameless on his belly, naked and shamelessly *covered* in bruises and bite-marks, long hair down over one eye, hiding *half* of that wicked smile and — 

"You're thinking of him right now..." 

Fuck — "I'm —" 

"Shh. No. I'm not — truly — jealous of Reynard or Kitos," Laurent says, and strokes Treville's hairline with his thumb — 

Treville shivers — "Sir — sir, I would like to know —" 

"Answer my question first." 

"He serves me, and — and sometimes both me and Kitos —" 

"I'm jealous every time I send the three of you on a mission, knowing that I'll be stuck in this *box*. I'm jealous when you return smelling of horses and gunpowder and other men's blood and the wind. I'm jealous when you leave here for the day and I must remain. I'm jealous when you leave the *palaces* and I must remain. I... believe you take my points." 

Treville pants — "Yes, sir. Please, sir, let me... ease you." 

"And if I want to be eased in... a different way than what you've planned for us?" 

Treville blushes hard — "I want — that. Please, sir. Please let me — let me give you what *you* want." 

"Why did you blush." 

"Because that was really —" Treville tries and fails to shake his head. "The thought of you wanting something sexual — or potentially sexual — from me is still... new, sir. When it's not a fantasy." 

Laurent yanks Treville's head *back* — 

They're staring at each other upside-*down* — 

Laurent is flushed and *sweating* — 

He looks *mad* — 

He looks *utterly* mad, and — 

"Please, sir — " 

"You want to give me... my fantasies." 

"Yes, sir. *Please*." 

"You can't do that here." 

"No, sir?" 

Laurent licks his lips. "That was a lie. I've had countless fantasies of — of making *love* with you —" 

Treville *moans* — 

"Be *silent* —" 

"I apologize, sir. Should I —" 

"*Ignore* that order. Never be silent. *Never*." 

"Sir?" 

"I don't want to lose any more *control*." 

"Please lose control with me, sir. Please — I promise I can *take* it —" 

"Do you *want* to." 

Treville groans — 

"*Do* you —" 

"*Yes*, sir, *please*, sir, *hurt* me —" 

Laurent tugs *sharply* on Treville's hair — 

"Fuck —" 

"*Up*." 

"Sir, yes —" 

"And watch your *language*." 

"Oh — sir. Yes, sir!" And Treville stands on wobbly legs, tries to think, tries to think of a way to *convince* if Laurent is about to talk them *out* of this — 

"*Strip*." 

And he's working off his weapons belts before the word fully registers, he's — 

He's blushing and nodding and — 

No, wait — "Yes, sir, thank you, sir —" 

"Are you thanking me because you wanted that order, recruit?" 

Treville moans. "I'm thanking you for all of this, sir, every — every *second* you *give* me —" 

"Don't —" 

"I'm *grateful* —" 

Laurent snarls and *slaps* him, making Treville stagger back and back and — 

Making Treville blink and stare and — 

"Did I tell you to stop stripping, recruit?" 

Treville grins. "No, sir. You didn't do that, at all," he says, and strips faster, *faster*, hobbling like a water-bird to get his boots and socks off. Once they are — 

"Head up." 

"Yes, sir —" 

Laurent slaps him again, and this time blood flows. 

Treville pants, licks his lips, and works on his laces, just — just that. Just that. 

"Well, recruit? Have you nothing to say for those slaps?" 

"If my superior officer feels I require that sort of discipline —" 

"You *asked* for my discipline, recruit." 

Treville shivers.

And shivers — 

And — falls, right along with his trousers and breeches. "Sir. There've been long days and nights when I would've begged for you to slap me *anywhere*, including my face, so long as you didn't *stop*." 

"Is today one of those days?" And Laurent raises an eyebrow as he gathers the blood from Treville's chin on two fingers. 

He shows it to Treville. 

And then he *sucks* it off his fingers, slowly and with *great* care. 

Treville can't look away, can't *think*, until he's done. 

"Answer." 

"Sir. I..." He shakes his head. "It's not what I was dreaming of, but if it makes you hungrier for me, it's *exactly* what I want." 

"Nothing could make me hungrier for you without actively making me want —" And Laurent grinds his teeth. "Obscenities. Your Ser Jason spoke of *cannibalism* casually, you know." 

Treville nods. 

"You accept even that — you're in love with him." 

The urge to soften is — incorrect, because it's the urge to lie. "I am, sir." 

Laurent narrows his eyes and nods. "My anger at you is, of course, in part my anger at myself. You're saying — you've been saying all along that I might have had you if I had been more clear at any point in the past seven *years*." 

"Yes, sir —" 

"Or if, at the first, I had not been so... myself," Laurent says, and his self-loathing is — impossible to take — 

"Sir —" 

"Shh." 

"Sir, please don't blame yourself —" 

"And who else is there to blame? My beloved brother for not pushing himself on me? *Forcing* himself on me? Because that's what it would've felt like to you, yes?" 

Treville — winces — 

"You need not answer that question verbally."

"Sir, don't — you mustn't —" 

"This paradigm has never allowed for you to tell me what I 'must' and 'must not' do, recruit. Quiet yourself." 

Treville whines helplessly — 

Laurent growls — "When you do that, I want to take you in my hands and — everything. I want everything. And you're saying, again and again, in countless undeniable ways, that I may have it." 

Treville nods, sharp and clear. 

"You're saying — no matter how outré. No matter how *violent*." 

Treville nods again. 

"Do you understand that the whip you've placed so neatly, so *goadingly* neatly, on my desk — the whip is a *limit*?" 

Treville blinks. He doesn't — 

Laurent laughs — it's another growl, and his smile is a baring of teeth. "I tell you everything about how I make love with Marie-Angelique. That's what you think, yes? You may speak again." 

Treville licks his lips — "Yes, sir. I... assumed..." 

"Because there was so much? And so much detail?" 

"Yes, sir —" 

"I tell you all too *little*. Those stories were meant — clumsily — to *entice*. To..." Laurent turns aside and pants — 

And pants — 

And then he *darts* in and bites Treville's wounded lip — 

Treville grunts and arches and moans, cock twitching and leaking — 

Fuck, on the *floor* — 

Oh, but — 

Laurent is taking his blood — 

It's not the first *time* — 

It's — 

The *first* time hadn't been long after Treville's powers had been *augmented* this way, and they'd *all* been in the field, and *all* of his brothers had taken injuries — 

And the knowledge of how to heal, how to *fix*, had been... right there. 

He hadn't known, at first, that he'd be binding them, as well, but — 

But. 

Laurent *sucks* Treville's bleeding lip — 

Treville *groans* — and feels the connection, the *binding*, between them pulse, *thunder* like a heart — 

Like *their* hearts — 

If he keeps this up, they'll be in *time* — 

And. 

And it's time to stop hiding this, the way he has with Kitos and Reynard. 

Laurent... 

Laurent jerks against him — 

(what — What — you haven't — What have you done?) 

I meant to tell you —

(What have you done.) 

Treville shivers — We're true kin now, sir, brothers by *blood*. We *have* been since not long after I was given these powers, and we — we shared blood — 

(Be specific,) Laurent says, pulling back and licking his lips — 

Panting — 

Staring *into* him — (Speak.) 

Yes, sir. "There's the communication, which you can see, and there's — you've been healthier these last few years than you have been the rest of your life, I'd wager, sir." And Treville raises his eyebrows. 

Laurent blinks and looks somewhat stunned — but only for a *moment* before he's narrowing his eyes again. "Am I stealing your vitality and health? Are Kitos and Reynard? Is *Ser Jason*?" 

"Not stealing it, sir — sharing in it. The healthier we all are... the healthier we all are. And Jason *gave* me his vitality —" 

"After you gave him yours?" 

Treville opens his mouth — and nods. "Yes, sir. You know I saved his life." 

"And so we're *all* bonded now." 

Fuck — "I — yes, sir — I'm sorry —" 

"Are you?" 

*Fuck* — "No. No, sir. I'm not, because — you need to — we all need to. Keep fewer secrets." 

And Laurent is — blazing at him, hard and hot and *wild* again — 

He doesn't smell *angry*, but — 

But Treville still has to bare his throat — 

"And if that's not where I want to bite you...?" 

"Anywhere. Any*time* —" 

"Face forward." 

"Yes, sir —" 

Laurent slaps him again — 

Treville groans and *yanks* his hands behind his back to keep from grabbing his *cock* — 

He's *reeling* — 

"To *attention*, recruit." 

But he's damned well at attention — 

"Can you see this?" 

"Sir?" 

"This," Laurent says, and — 

And Marie-Angelique is there, beneath him, around him — 

He's *inside* her — 

He's fucking her hot, slick, soft, swollen-tight *cunt* — 

He's holding her hair like *reins* and fucking her *hard* — 

Her pale, soft skin is covered in bruises and bite-marks — 

She's yelling — howling for it, *howling* for it — howling for *Laurent*, and Treville realizes that he's been yanked into one of Laurent's memories, that he's *living* through a night the man had spent *abusing* — 

But. 

This — 

This is no different from how he treats Reynard. 

This — 

The fact that *he'd* never considered making love to a woman this way — 

(*Yes*, brother*, and — wait — ) 

The memory changes — 

He's — 

Oh — oh, God, he's fucking her *arse* — 

She's so tight — 

So sleek and tight and — 

And round and soft and — 

("Tell me you want the *dog*, wife!!" 

"I *want* him, please, *please* —" 

"Tell me you — you want to be *mounted* —" 

"Please let him *have* me — nuh — nuh — I'll be *good*, husband! —" 

"Tell me — tell me —" 

"Make me — UNH — make me his *bitch*!") 

And the memory of a spend is never as good as the spend itself, but this — 

Laurent *ramming* into Marie-Angelique's arse again and *again* — 

Shouting and growling and *filling* her with his spend while she shudders and whimpers and *grips* at the headboard —

While she grips with one hand and reaches down to *touch* herself with the other — 

And. 

And sometimes Amina would — 

While *he* would — 

Treville groans, pulling himself back — 

He's shaky on his feet, shaky everywhere, needy — 

"Don't *leave* me," Laurent says, cupping Treville's bruising face and staring down *into* him. 

"Sir — *sir* —" 

"My memories. *Not* yours." 

Treville grunts — 

And Laurent pulls him into a memory — darkness. 

Red-shot, painful, aching — 

And then his/their hands get where they need to go — 

The memory is of Laurent tossing himself *off* — 

*Brutalizing* his own bollocks — 

Treville groans and wallows, learns, memorizes every stroke even better than he already had when he was a boy in Laurent's *tent* — 

And then Laurent opens his eyes in the memory — and Treville can see himself, in the alley *across* from the alley Laurent is using — 

He can see himself being *serviced* by a lovely boy with tumbling blond curls not unlike Marie-Angelique's — 

His name had been Jean — 

He'd been a butcher's boy — with an eye for hard men that had gotten him in trouble once or twice. 

Treville had been more than willing to advise him on how to better choose his paramours from among the butcher's customers, and — 

And Jean — 

And Treville knows that he's remembering all of this in part because Laurent wants to know, *has* wanted to know, has wanted to interrogate Treville for hours on *end* about what had made him laugh right then — 

Jean had made a surprised sound for the head of Treville's cock breaching his tight throat — 

Laurent had wanted to know what had made Treville grin and swivel his hips — 

Jean had fluttered his long and almost colourless eyelashes — 

Jean had sucked so hard, so *hard* — 

And Treville offers — 

Presses the memory that much *closer* between them — 

Laurent makes a *desperate* sound — 

*Reaches* — 

And they share the feel of soft lips, softly-*exploring* lips, against Treville's knot — 

They share Jean's expert, gulping swallows — 

One after *another* — 

They share the sight of Jean pulling out his own small, pretty cock, foreskin all pulled-back as he tosses himself off on his knees, as Treville begins to *fuck* that lovely *face* — 

And Laurent is making garbled noises, *strangled* noises — 

Laurent is still cupping Treville's face — 

He presses closer, still — 

Walks Treville back to the desk — 

Jean is *suckling* at Treville's knot — 

Laurent is tossing his *head* — 

Jean is sucking *kisses* — 

Laurent bends Treville backwards over the desk — "I — *this*," he says, and *drives* against Treville's cock, drives *hard*, leather and laces dragging against Treville's fur and naked *skin* — 

"Yes — oh — *yes* —" 

Laurent *growls* and pins him by the shoulders — 

Jean groans in his *chest* — 

Laurent shoves so *hard* — 

Jean bounces on his *knees* — 

Treville arches *up* for it — 

Laurent grips Treville's *throat*, instead — 

Treville's cock jerks and jerks and — 

Laurent groans and yanks Treville's *hair* with his other hand — 

Jean spurts between Treville's feet — 

"I smell — I can smell —" 

Everything I do, everything I *did*, Treville says — 

Laurent sobs and growls and *slams* against him, hurts him, loves him — 

*Loves* him — 

"*Yes* — yes, *always*," Laurent says, *squeezing* Treville's throat and shaking him like a puppy — 

Treville bucks and bucks and *spurts*, helpless and needy, howling silent everywhere but their soul-space — 

That always *works* — 

Everything is — 

His brother has him at *last*, has him gripped tight and under control and it's so good, so perfect, so — 

So bloody *blinding* — 

"Watch. Your. *Mouth*." 

Treville spurts *more* — "I — I'm sorry!" 

Jean keeps *swallowing* them — 

Keeps — 

"Nothing is better than *this*," Laurent says, kissing him hard and *fucking* against him, driving him further across the desk with one thrust — 

Another — 

Another — 

*Another*, and then he's *yelling* into his mouth, *grinding* against Treville and obviously spending. Just — 

In his *trousers* — 

They're hanging off the desk in multiple *directions* — 

And it couldn't be more perfect. 

It — 

Is he allowed to touch? To cup his beautiful brother's face and — 

(Not... yet...) 

Yes, sir — 

Laurent groans and kisses Treville harder, *harder* — 

Treville's lip starts bleeding again — 

Laurent moans and slurps and *shoves* against him — and they nearly barrel off the desk. 

Treville braces them while Laurent gets his bearings — 

They stand — 

Laurent strips himself with military speed and *precision* — 

Treville gives himself several long, happy moments to think about licking the spend from Laurent's long, thick, gorgeous cock — 

And then Laurent cups Treville's chin and tilts his face up.

"Sir?" 

He licks his reddened lips and stares down at Treville with a wildly *happy* look in his eyes. "Now. *Now* I can whip you without killing both of us." 

And, really, there are a lot of things Treville *can* say to that. Only one of them is relevant: "Where do you want me, sir?"


	2. Use your barks, Treville.

The answer to that question turns out to be: 'Against the shelving, facing it, now that all the parchment is safely all over the floor.' 

Which makes sense — it's good to grab onto, sturdy enough if you're not Laurent in a lather — 

"Am I scarring you, brother...?" 

Brother, now. Mm. Hm. That bears thought. Unfortunately, Treville's stuck on that other word, and also he's making the shelving creak abominably. He stops that. "I... can heal from most scars, if they're not backed up by strong magic." 

Laurent growls. 

Paces behind him — 

Sounds dangerously likely to destroy something *really* important — 

And *then* Treville remembers that *Jason* had said something about — 

Laurent growls *harder* — 

"Brother. Jason can *choose* to be scarred. He can, quite possibly, teach me to do the same. *Have* the same." 

Laurent pauses, all over — Treville can feel it. 

He waits — 

"And he would — of course he would. He loves *you*." Laurent's growl, this time, is inner-directed. "My jealousy is unworthy. You've been kind enough not to say it *directly* —" 

"We —" Treville blinks and tries to focus — "We can't help how we *feel*, brother —" 

"Yes. We. *Can*. When what we feel is unworthy of who we are and who we *must* be," Laurent says. "I will not — I will not *sully* myself with — this." 

"Brother —" 

"*Bend*, brother." 

Treville grunts — and drops. Just — "Yes. Yes... sir?" 

"No, I find that I don't want a military basis for... this. Not this time. I'm your older brother. Your *big* brother. Am I not?" 

Treville's knees are watery again and — "Yes, big brother. *Always*, big brother." 

"We'll decide between us just which mark or marks deserve elevation to scars, and I will make my suit to Ser Jason along with my *apologies*." 

"*Yes*, big brother —" 

"Where..." And then Laurent pauses. 

"Yes, big brother?" 

"Where did you even get such a long *scourge*, with such... the tails are so..." 

"I — I confiscated it —" 

"No, no, don't tell me the whole story right now. You won't tell me *enough*, and I'll grow *distracted*." 

"Yes, big brother —" 

"Shall I wet the tips of the tails, little brother? Increase the intensity of your... experience?" 

Increase his *pain* — 

Treville's cock *jerks* again — 

He moans — "Please, big brother. Please do —" 

Laurent hums — and the sucking sounds coming from behind Treville are — just — 

How often does Laurent whip Marie-Angelique? 

How much does she *love* it? 

Will he get to see —

"Yes, you will. The alternative is obscene." 

"I —" 

"Prepare yourself." 

And that — 

Just — 

Treville goes *loose* — 

Laurent *groans* — "If you ever doubt my desire for you *again*... I will do exactly this," he says, and the first strike *stripes* Treville's back. 

Treville jerks and gasps — 

The next is somehow *liquid* fire on his *arse* — 

"Please, big brother!" 

"Are you begging for more?" 

"Yes! Yes, please!" 

Laurent pants behind him — 

And the next three strikes *work* his back, work his upper *back*, and Treville is crying out, moaning and *savouring* — 

And then the *next* three take his right thigh — 

He gasps — 

He moans and gasps and pushes up on his toes — and *yells* when the next *five* strikes stripe his arse and — 

And blood is flowing. It's. 

It's. 

Treville groans and writhes and presses his needy cock against the *shelving* — 

"No. Stand straight, little brother." 

Treville *grunts* — 

Obeys — tries to obey. He can't — 

The blood is running down his thighs — 

His arse and back and thighs are on *fire* — 

He's — writhing. 

Tossing his head — 

"You can't still yourself...?" And Laurent's voice is a *dangerous* purr. 

Treville moans loudly — "Please — please, big brother, I'll — try harder —" 

"You'll *do* it." 

Treville's knees *buckle* — no — no — 

He grips the *shelving* — 

He stands *straight* — 

He shivers for the tickle of the blood — 

For the itch and *tingle* of the wounds beginning to *heal* without his *permission* — 

And Laurent growls. "Good, that's good. That's..." He growls again.

"Yes — yes, big brother?" 

"I want everything of you, little brother." 

"You can *have* —" 

"Shh. Is this — is this *well*." 

Treville *grunts*, cock spattering the shelves — "Oh — nngh — big brother, yes, *yes* —"

"You're certain...?" 

"I'm yours!" 

"Mine?" 

"Please, yes, big brother," Treville says, blinking and staring at the shelving, at the wall, at nothing at *all* — 

"Will you do what I say?" 

"Yes!" 

Laurent growls. "Will you take what I give you?" 

"Everything -- anything --" 

"Take this," Laurent says, and now the strikes land on his arms, his hands, his arse again — 

Treville *yells* — 

The scourge coils round his throat and *chokes* him just — just a little — 

Treville gurgles and *bucks* — 

"I see..." 

But the strikes are already *working* his back again, lighting him up, making him — making him *burn* — 

Treville sobs, shakes, tries to stay still, to stay *still* — 

And Laurent is whipping the outsides of his thighs, heating them, heating — 

Treville is *burning* — 

"As I've burned, little brother? As I've burned without you for fourteen *years*?" 

"Nuh —" 

"Is this how you planned to give answer?" 

"Not — not only — please let me — I —" 

"Please let you what, little brother? Move?" And Laurent is striping Treville's *arse* again, over and over and — 

Criss-crossing the welts and slashes — 

He can't — 

Treville can't keep from bucking, from taking it like a *fuck* — 

"Do you want *that*, little brother...?" 

"Please, yes! Please, yes!" 

"Do you want it the way *I* would give it to you...?" And the strikes take his legs again, the backs of his legs — 

Treville is shuddering and tense and — 

He wants to dance on his *feet* — 

He wants to — to — 

He *howls* — 

Laurent gasps and pauses — 

*Pauses* — 

"I have *ached* to hear that *sound*." 

Treville *barks* — 

Barks a *question* — 

Opens his mouth to ask more clearly —

"Shh. Shh. I...." Laurent moans. "I've wanted your dog for *myself*, little brother. Do you understand that?" And he drags the scourge over the unwelted skin of Treville's lower back. 

"I — I —" 

"Perhaps not the best time to ask. Not —" Laurent moans again and *kisses* the back of Treville's neck. "Are you still well?" 

"Please — please, big brother!" 

"Shh. Yes or no." 

"Yes! Yes, big brother!" 

"Do you still want — want more?" And Laurent is panting, *licking* Treville's throat --

Treville groans and shudders — "More, more — please give me every—" And then he's howling *more*, because Laurent is striping his *back* again, he's — 

"I need you so *much*, little brother!" 

I'm yours, big brother! 

Laurent *snarls* — "Turn *around*!" 

Treville obeys on shaky legs, tries and fails to reach up again to grab at the shelving — 

Tries again — and doesn't make it before Laurent is lashing his *cock* — 

Treville howls again — 

Again, short and *sharp* — 

And Laurent lashes him there twice more, light and fast, making Treville buck into it, making — 

He can't — 

Laurent *stops* — 

He *stops*. Treville *whines*. He's so hard. He's so close. 

He aches so *much* — 

"*Please*, big brother! Please don't stop!" 

Laurent gasps — 

*Staggers* until he's *shoving* Treville against the shelving — 

Treville winces and *sobs* and — 

Laurent *shoves* against him once — 

Twice — 

Stares down at him — "Beg. Again." 

"Please don't stop! Please don't stop any—" 

And Laurent snarls and bites Treville's *ear*, bucking fast and hard and sweet and — 

Spending. 

Spending all *over* Treville's hot, throbbing, *welted* cock — 

He — 

Oh. 

*Oh* — 

Treville moans and takes it, *takes* it — "*Thank* you, big brother —" 

Laurent breaks the bite to make a *wrenched* noise, bucking harder, spending *more* — 

"Thank you, please, please, give me more —" 

He makes the noise again — 

Staggers *back*, spattering the floor with his spend — 

"*Please!" 

"My. Little —" And then Laurent shakes *himself* like a dog, and he's wild, flushed, sweating and sleek and *hungry*. "Take. *More*." 

"Yes —" 

And Laurent lashes Treville's nipples — 

Treville *jerks* and sobs and — "*Thank* you, big —" 

And Laurent coils the tails of the whip around Treville's *throat* again — 

Treville *gurgles* — "Thank —" 

Laurent lashes his *balls*, over and over and — 

Treville *pumps* into the air and *howls* and tries — 

Tries to thank — no — 

Thank you, big brother! Thank you! Thank you! Thank —

Laurent snarls again and lashes Treville's *cock* — 

Treville *chokes* on his howl — 

Staggers and falls to his *knees* — 

He doesn't — 

He can't — 

"*Up*!" 

"Thank —" But he's spending, he's spending and reeling and he can't see, he can't think, he can't *speak* — 

He's *barking* and howling, barking and shuddering and arching back and back — 

Offering his spurting cock for the punishment it needs, *he* needs — 

"Oh... little brother..." 

He nods and nods and he's burning for it, aching in his knot, his empty arse, his swollen nipples, his healing *skin* — 

"I'm going to do this — do this to you so *much* — 

Treville howls again and spurts *more* — 

He has so *much* for Laurent — 

Everything he *is* — 

"I — can't *wait*," Laurent says, hauling him up and moving him, taking him, dragging him across the room to the desk and making him *sit* on his burning arse — 

He howls again and spills, just *spills* — 

"This mark. This one here," Laurent says, stroking *around* one of the long, thin, red slashes on Treville's belly — 

"Y-yes? Yes, big brother?" 

"Scar it. Do — please *ask* your lover —" 

"Yes, big brother —" 

(Pull your energies away from it... once you focus on it.) 

I — I — 

(It's all right. Simply *pull* the *moment* your focus is achieved... and then... tie it away from the energies. Leave it... outside yourself, inasmuch as that's possible. And *do* tell your big brother that his apologies are not necessary —) 

(I disagree,) Laurent says. (But, perhaps, we will have this discussion in person.) 

Jason *shivers* within him — (As you will.) 

(Thank you, Ser Jason.) 

(Thank *you* for allowing me to be of assistance, Captain. Until we meet again...) And Jason withdraws — 

As much as, Treville realizes, he *can* with the bond between them — 

"It's... powerful," Laurent says thoughtfully. 

"Yes, big brother," Treville says, and focuses, just as Jason had said, just — 

There. 

The slash is distinct, hot and in need of attention — 

Treville feels it healing *faster* — 

He *yanks* his energies away from it — 

Ties them *off* — and lets his energies flow back into the business of healing his other welts and slashes. *This* one will scar somewhat brutally, but only somewhat. 

"It will look... almost innocent," Laurent says, and cups Treville's face with his bloody fingers —

"Is that what you want, big brother?" 

"I want for there to be a secret between *us*. Just one. Just this once." 

Treville's cock *jerks* — 

Much too *soon* — 

He groans — 

"'Too soon' is a matter of opinion, my love," Laurent says, and kisses him hard, hungry, sweet and *hot* — 

Treville's *mouth* is already mostly-healed from those slaps — 

(Would you rather it weren't?) 

I — I want to *feel* you, big brother — 

And Laurent bites his lip so *hard* — 

Treville *shouts* into his mouth — 

And then Laurent sucks, hard and hungry again, so good, so *good* — 

Thank you, big brother — 

Laurent pulls back. "Tell me. Tell me there's *oil* in your saddlebag." 

Treville blinks — and grins. "Yes, big brother. *Plenty*." 

Laurent licks his lips. "In your fantasies..." 

"Yes, big brother?" 

"Do I have you over the desk? On the floor? Braced on the chairs?" 

Treville groans. "All of it. Everything. Against the *wall* —" 

Laurent pants and looks like he's plotting the death of *nations* — 

"Please —" 

"We'll *have* everything —" 

"*Thank* you —" 

"Shh. Desk first," he says, standing and giving Treville room to move — 

Treville takes it and — 

"No. Other side." 

*Laurent's* side — 

Treville groans and moves, shaky *as* a puppy, awkward, *needy* — 

Laurent rifles through the saddlebag, pulling out cards, spirits, dice — 

He *looks* at Treville — 

Treville flushes and hangs his *head* — 

And Laurent grunts — "I'm not taking you to task for *this* today, little brother." 

"Yes — yes, big brother —" 

"And here's your oil. I don't know why I was expecting the pomade Kitos carries for this..." 

"Would you prefer —" 

"Not in the slightest. Even though you *aren't* a virgin... anymore," Laurent says, and moves round the desk behind him — 

Someone knocks on the *door* — 

Treville's heart leaps into his throat — 

"I am *entirely* too busy to accept visitors, petitioners, or anyone *else*. Come back in two *hours*," the *Captain* says — while *Laurent* spreads Treville's burning, aching, welted *arse* — 

There's a quiet grunt from outside — "Yes, sir! I apologize, sir!" And that's Hermine, who can at least be trusted not to carry *many* tales. 

"That isn't necessary. Simply go and return." 

"Yes — uh. Yes, sir," Hermine says, and goes. 

Laurent presses his lips to his ear. "Do I wait to enter you? Or can you be somewhat quiet?" 

"Please don't *wait*," Treville says, quiet and *needy* — 

Laurent growls — and *pushes* right in with two. Pushes, not shoves, and Treville pants for it, hangs his head again, moans — 

*Needs* — 

"You need this." 

"Your — you. I need *you*, big brother —" 

"You need me inside you." 

Treville's cock twitches and *leaks* — 

Drips on Laurent's *desk* — 

He's making a *mess* — 

"Drip on it," Laurent says, and starts to thrust — 

Treville groans and braces himself on his shaking arms —- 

"Drip on it. Leak on it. Drool on it. Bleed on it. *Urinate* on it if something I do to you moves you to do that. Leave this office *drenched* in you," Laurent says, and thrusts fast — 

"Unh —" 

*Fast* — 

"UNH —" 

"Is this what you like? Mm?" 

"I like — more than — more than one —" 

"But it's one of the things you like," Laurent says, and twists his fingers, confusingly *expert* — confusingly until Treville remembers Marie-Angelique. 

Treville groans and drools and — 

Slurps it *back* and — 

"I like it, I like it, I want it, I want everything you *do*, big brother —" 

"You keep saying that." 

"Please *test* me, big brother!" 

Laurent growls and — here's the shove — 

So *hard* — 

So — 

Treville *coughs* out a grunt as Laurent forces him up onto his toes with every thrust — 

As Laurent forces him to *take* — 

His big, long *fingers* — and Treville clenches hard and *gasps*, because he can't stop himself from thinking about Laurent's cock, his beautiful *cock* — 

"How much. More stretching. Do you need." 

Treville's eyes *fly* open wide — 

"I know I've only just begun, little brother. I'm not so — so wild as that," he says, laughing and shoving in hard again — 

"NNH —" 

Again — "Anymore..." 

"Oh, *please* —" 

*Again* — 

"Please, big brother, *please* — " 

"Will you beg like that — I can't — how *much*." 

"I'll beg like this until — until you make me too stupid to *manage* —" 

Laurent growls and bites the back of his neck — 

The welts are only just *fading* there — 

It's the back of his *neck* — 

Treville *barks* — 

*Spatters* the desk with slick — 

Barks again and presses into it, begs for it, *needs* it — 

Laurent is still *stretching* him — 

*Taking* him with his fingers — 

Spreading them wide and *crooking* — 

Treville grunts and *howls*, dripping more slick and needing, *needing* — 

Please, big brother, another *finger* — 

"*Yes*," Laurent says, and pulls out immediately, pulls out just enough that he can *nudge* in with the third finger, in and in, in and *in* — 

So good — 

So thick and deep and — 

Treville *sobs* — 

"He's left you so *tight*," Laurent says, and it sounds like pleasure and it sounds like *accusation* — 

Treville is *blushing* —-

He can't — 

He doesn't know how to say that Kitos has had him, too — 

That tight for three of *those* fingers really isn't tight by any other *standard* — 

Laurent gasps a laugh — "You — you may have a point. Being as how my wife is *also* quite tight around me. *Always*." 

Treville *bucks* —

"Yes? The idea is an attractive one? She desires you so *much*, little brother. She *aches* for your *knot*." 

"You — you've told her —" 

"Everything," Laurent says, and fucks him *slowly* with his three fingers, slow and *hard*. "Every detail I've been able to *glean*." 

"Oh — nnh —" 

"I'll have more for her now," Laurent says, and sounds smug, happy, *partially* satisfied. "I know how you feel, after all, when your knot is kissed by a pair of soft *lips*," he says, and crooks *up* — 

Treville *screams* — 

*Claws* at the desk — 

"Oh, good boy... good..." Laurent growls. "Are you my good dog?" 

"*Yes*!" 

"My good and hungry... hound?" 

Treville *barks* — no, no, words — 

"You don't need words," Laurent says, and pushes him *down*. 

Treville barks *again* — 

"Now be a good dog and take it for me." 

Treville gasps and gasps and — croons as Laurent *fucks* his arse with his big fingers, as he stretches and bends and *twists* — 

Treville croons and croons — 

Spreads his legs *wider* —- 

"Oh... good dog. Harder now," Laurent says, and gives it to him, gives it to him so *sweet* — 

So — 

"Is it sweet, little hound?" 

Treville barks and nods and nods — 

"Even when I take you this hard?" And Laurent shoves in, *in*, *in* — 

Treville tries to *wag* — 

"Oh, I see. But be *still*." 

Treville obeys — and lifts his arse — 

"Oh — brother. My — my. But you're my hound," Laurent says, and keeps *shoving* — 

Opening him so *wide* — 

Treville is *drooling* for it — 

Right onto the desk — 

"You're. *I* hold *this* lead." 

Treville barks again — 

Clenches and *howls* — 

Dances on his feet — 

"Be *still*." 

Treville *obeys* — 

"Lift — lift again — oh. Good boy. Good *boy*," Laurent says, and *stops* thrusting — 

Treville whines and whines and — and *chokes*, because Laurent crooks *up* — 

*Works* his pleasure-button — 

Works it so *hard* — 

"Can you spend like this, little hound?" 

Treville barks and nods again, gives, flexes *open* — 

"Do you want to...? And don't say 'whatever I want'. I want, in this moment, what *you* desire most." 

Treville feels himself flush where his skin is bare — 

Feels the fur take more of his *belly* — 

He — he wants — 

"You want everything. It's hard to think. Yes, I see..." And Laurent grips his hip with his free hand. "I'll make it simpler. Cock... or fingers. You'll get my cock either way, but, if you choose my fingers, you'll have to wait —" 

That — he can't — he croons — 

He lifts his arse more and *croons* —

He begs and begs and *whines* — 

"Oh, brother... beautiful little —" Laurent growls and pulls his fingers out fast and steadily. "I didn't want to wait, either. I didn't want anything to — to separate us —" 

And that's the blunt head of his cock right — 

Right there — 

So *big* — 

"No more *secrets*," Laurent says, and starts to push — 

Starts to — 

It's so many *fantasies* — 

Treville *clenches* before the head is all the way in — 

"*No*." 

Treville *yips* and flexes open — 

"Good boy," Laurent says, and pats his hip — 

Treville flushes — 

He feels so hot, so scrambled, so — 

And then Laurent is pushing deeper, deeper and deeper and — 

And Treville is flushing all over, flushing so dark, needing — 

"You need. What I'm. What I'm *giving* you." 

Treville yips and yips — 

"Oh, my — my beautiful *hound*," Laurent says, pulling out and thrusting *deep* — 

Treville croons and tries to focus, tries to focus on anything but the pleasure inside him — 

So deep — 

So — 

"Focus on *me*," Laurent says, pulling out so — 

So slowly — 

It feels like he's taking Treville *with* him — 

It feels like he's — 

He *is* big, so *big* — 

He's been — 

And Treville had wanted him when he was just a boy, just — just a puppy in real ways, and — 

"I would've *hurt* you," Laurent says, and shoves *deep* — 

Treville *barks*, cock flexing, body needing — 

"I would've — I didn't have *control* — I was so *young*," Laurent says, and pulls out — 

Not so slow, not so slow — 

He shoves *in* — 

In — 

It's so good — 

So — 

So hot and fast and *good* — 

Treville licks the desk because he can't reach Laurent, because — 

But then Laurent's dry fingers are on his lips — 

They still smell like leather and *blood* — 

Treville's cock *spasms* — 

He clenches *helplessly* — 

But Laurent never loses his rhythm, never *stops*, never — 

He's *pounding* Treville, making him *take* it — 

Growling and growling and *ramming* in, so hard, so *beautifully* hard, and Treville can't do anything but open his mouth and let every sound out, every yip and croon and *bark* — 

Every *howl* when the angle is just — just right — 

"Just. Like. *Marie-Angelique*." 

Treville *barks* and licks frantically at those fingers — 

Aches for it — 

Aches to smell it, see it, *taste* it when Laurent takes his wife — 

Aches for Laurent to make her *ready* for him — and for the *true* dog — 

Laurent *shouts* — 

Grips Treville's *cock* with his other hand — 

Treville *howls* again — 

Laurent squeezes *viciously* hard — 

Treville drops his head to the desk and grinds it down, grinds it *down* — 

"My — my *hound*," Laurent says, easing his grip and tossing him off, awkward for the first few strokes and then *frighteningly* perfect, just — 

But Laurent knows exactly how he does himself — 

He — 

"Yes. Yes, I *do*," Laurent says, and pounds him and works him and — "*Spend* for me," he says, and squeezes *gently*, and strokes and squeezes a little *harder*, and strokes *fast* — 

Treville *whines* — 

He — 

He's bucking back and forth — 

He's *working* himself between Laurent's hand and *cock* — 

His big hand, his big cock — 

He's so — 

He's *contained*, so — so *contained* — 

"You're my *hound*," Laurent says, grinding and changing his angle and *ramming* against Treville's pleasure-button — 

So — 

*Hard* — 

And Treville can't see — 

Can't — can't *hear* — 

All he can feel is how hot he is, how — 

How he's burning for it, aching all over for exactly what he's getting, for how good, how sweet, how hard and hot and perfect — 

How *loved* —

"Don't. Don't *forget*," Laurent says, and now his other hand is on the back of Treville's neck, gripping there, gripping *tight* — 

It's so *perfect* — 

Treville is howling so — 

He's *spurting*, wetting down the desk just like Laurent *said* to do — 

"Good. Good *boy*," Laurent says, squeezing his cock again, holding him, working his hand back to Treville's knot and — 

Milking — 

Milking him so — 

Treville howls again and spurts more, spurts *more* — 

He's clenching over and over again, he's — 

"Nnh — hnh — HNH — my — my perfect *hound*. I'm. I can't — tell me how to make it perfect for *you*!" 

He can't — it can't be *more* — but. 

But there's an image he can share — 

And then Laurent *covers* him, shoves him *down*, *bites* the back of his neck and rams in, in, *in*, and he's only glancing off Treville's pleasure-button now, but every thrust is still scrambling, still — 

Still — 

Treville is crooning and drooling and *spilling* spend from his cock, his aching and hyper-sensitized cock — 

It's so *right* --

It's so perfect and *right* — 

(*Yes* — oh — *oh*—) And Laurent grinds in so *hard* — 

So — 

*Bites* harder — 

Trevilles whines *desperately* — 

And then Laurent *slams* in one more time and starts to spill, hot and wet and — and *hot* — 

So *deep* inside him — 

So — 

So *claiming* — 

(*My* hound!) 

Treville groans and croons and yes, yes, yes — 

All — 

*Yes* — 

Laurent's cock jerks *hard* inside him — 

So — 

(And — and when you mount my wife — when you give her a child —) 

Treville's eyes fly open again — 

He clenches and *grunts* — 

Laurent groans and spills *more* — 

So much — and then he slumps.

And pants. 

And bites Treville again — 

Again and again — 

The bites slowly become kisses — 

Treville slowly regains the ability to blink — 

Very slowly — 

Laurent laughs breathlessly and *licks* the space behind Treville's right ear — 

Treville moans helplessly — 

"I went too far. My fantasies are... too much." 

Treville winces — 

"You don't want to admit to that. You... oh, you're such a good *hound*," Laurent says, and squeezes his *chest*. 

Treville flexes open *helplessly* — 

Croons — 

*Falls* — 

Croons more and just — 

Just — 

"Yes, little hound. Simply relax. I won't do anything you don't want me to do," Laurent says, and *sucks* at that spot. "And I won't *make* you do anything you don't want to do." 

Treville yips and drops his head. 

"Good boy. Good... mm. Can you take me thrusting a little more?" 

Treville yips again and nods. 

"Good boy. I need to feel —" And Laurent groans and starts to thrust slowly again, starts — 

Fuck, slow and *hard* — 

Slow and *hard* — 

Treville shivers and pants and croons and sweats for it, aches for it — 

"I need to feel *you*. All of *you*," Laurent says. 

Treville nods and takes it, panting and drooling for how much *bigger* Laurent feels now that he's all swollen — 

"Oh. Oh... don't." 

Treville croons a question — 

"Don't make me need to have you again *immediately*," Laurent says, and laughs, breathless and bright and pleased. 

Treville rumbles. 

"You're happy," Laurent says, pushing up, and rocking in shallowly once, twice — he stops. "You're *happy*," he says again, and *he* sounds happy and he sounds shocked. 

Treville nods and smiles and rumbles more. 

"Perfect hound... your welts are all faded." 

Treville nods and arches for Laurent, shows himself — 

Laurent moans and strokes him — 

*Pets* him — 

Pets him so hard, so firmly, so *warmly* — 

Treville croons and croons and takes it — 

"Oh... perfect. *Perfect*. But... I'd like to pet you all over," Laurent says. "Can you take me pulling out so soon?" 

For *petting*? Treville croons and nods and nods and nods — 

Laurent laughs sweetly, happily — "As you *say*," he says, and cups Treville's hips — 

Strokes and pets Treville *there* — 

"Breathe, little hound. You know.... you know what to do." 

Yes yes — 

He breathes — 

He *concentrates* on being good, being *open* — 

He breathes — 

"Oh... so good, so — mm. A little more. Just a little more. I won't hurt you this way."

Treville nods and keeps breathing, keeps concentrating — 

"There," Laurent says, and pulls out slowly and steadily. "Perfect hound. Perfect and so... I've loved you since I've known you." 

Treville rumbles and rumbles and stays — 

Laurent hasn't told him to *move* — 

He already misses those *hands* — 

"Those hands are currently busy working to desecrate yet another perfectly innocent handkerchief. Do you know, I started carrying two when you gained your more canine aspects." 

Treville *barks* — 

"Yes, precisely. I've wanted you in my *hands*, little hound — don't lift your arse again." 

Treville yips an apology. 

"That's all right. One day I will take you until we're *both* utterly spent." 

Treville yips and croons and nods and — doesn't lift his arse. 

Laurent hums. "There we are. I lack pillows, but..." 

He pulls two Musketeer-issue blankets from under the desk and lays them out on the floor. 

"It grows *icy* in this office in the winter, and yet I still must sit *still* at that accursed desk — hmm. I feel better about the thing now. Somehow. Come." 

Treville croons and obeys — 

And lets Laurent arrange him in his arms — 

Half in his lap — 

Close enough for kisses and licks and — 

And petting. 

So much *petting* — 

"Words cannot express how I've desired this," Laurent says, and strokes him, and strokes him, and licks his chin — 

Treville croons and licks him back, licks him all over that trim beard, that soft mouth — 

Laurent laughs delightedly — "My hound..." 

Treville nods and nods —- and *barks* when Laurent strokes down to his knot and cups. 

"Forgive me. You're simply too beautiful." 

Treville croons and pants — 

Tucks his face in against Laurent's throat — 

Shudders and wants and *doesn't* want Laurent to squeeze in equal measure — 

"Shh, shh. That's not for now, I know. I *can* be taught basic competency in these things; I promise," Laurent says, and moves his hands to Treville's thighs. "So strong. So..." Laurent hums. "I loved whipping you..." 

Treville croons more and presses closer — 

"I've loved everything about today except for my own unworthiness — shh, don't argue. I am allowed to judge myself." 

Treville croons *unhappily*. 

"But... it hurts you when I do?" 

Treville nods. 

"You are... such a loving hound. Such a... such a loving *brother*..." 

Treville blinks — 

Licks Laurent's throat — 

Licks and licks and — 

And considers... 

"Only if you're ready, little hound. As far as I'm concerned, you can croon at me all day. You make yourself perfectly understood." 

Treville rumbles — and kisses Laurent's throat. 

Laurent grunts. 

Pauses in his petting — but only for a moment before going back to it. 

"My love?" 

"Brother," Treville says, and his voice feels rusty, his mouth feels like it's the wrong shape, his *body* feels like it's the wrong shape — 

"I... was wondering why you didn't shift." 

Treville *blinks* — 

Feels himself *settle* into his own, human-*enough* skin — 

And blinks a little more, because — "I... did you *want* the dog?" 

"I've had those dreams," Laurent says, as if — 

No, not as if it's nothing. As if it's as serious and important and *true* as everything else between them. 

Laurent raises an eyebrow at him. "Should it not be? Do you *not* make love as the dog...?" 

"I.... have. But only three times." 

*Laurent* blinks. "In *total*?" 

"Yes —" 

"Once for each...?" 

"Twice for Reynard, once for Kitos." 

"Ser Jason hasn't desired...?" 

"It hasn't... ah. He wants to, and I want to, but we've been... distracted by other choices." 

Laurent nods thoughtfully. "It's true that I want... the things I want with you could fill a cornucopia of *deviance*... if I still thought that way." 

"I'm rather surprised that you don't," Treville says, floating that out there... 

Laurent smiles slyly — and strokes Treville's throat. "You don't ask enough questions." 

Treville looks at Laurent hard. "That's going to change." 

Laurent pants — "Good." 

"I —" 

"Is that what happened today? You became... too distracted to shift?" 

Treville — coughs a laugh. "No. I — no. That doesn't — ah. You were holding my *lead*, brother." 

"Yes?" 

"You — you had me in *hand*," Treville says, trying again —

"What does that — oh. *I* was keeping you from shifting?" 

Treville laughs again. "I couldn't have shifted if I'd *wanted* to... unless, of course, you'd *told* me to do it." 

Laurent *grunts*. "I. I had — that much control..." 

"*Yes*, brother —" 

"I could have..." 

"*Yes* —" 

"You're not leaving this office today." 

Treville *grins*. "As you *say*, sir —" 

"No." 

"Big brother, then." 

"I —" Laurent moans. "I want to *collar* you!" 

And then there's the sound of Jason clearing his *throat* inside their souls — 

"What —" 

(I wouldn't dream of interrupting, but...) 

And then a *thick*, brown leather collar lands on their thighs. It would match Treville's leathers perfectly. 

(*That* is a collar which Treville can glamour to appear invisible to the *human* eye whenever he wishes. It will also block most sword-blows quite handily...)

Treville blinks — 

Looks to Laurent — 

And Laurent has a *starved* look in his eyes, a mad look, a destroyer-of-*continents* look — 

Treville grins. That's a yes. 

"Yes. It. *Is*," Laurent says, lifting the collar — 

It glows blue in his hand — 

"Oh..." (Thank you for this, Ser Jason. Thank you for everything you do to protect Treville, to care for his body and mind and soul and — and *heart*.) 

(One does not meet people such as him — or his brothers — every day, Captain. I sincerely hope to remain in your regard for a long time to come.) 

Laurent raises an eyebrow. (With rich gifts?) 

(Well. I can't always *be* close enough for conversation.) 

(And yet you're speaking to us now...) 

(Our Treville is holding the link. I'm afraid that, as things stand now, the two of us would not be able to converse at this chronospatial distance without his help.) 

(That is *fascinating* — I. When do you think you *will* be able to join me for an evening of conversation, Ser Jason...?) 

Jason's smile is broad and *bright* within them. (That depends entirely on one thing, Captain.) 

(Yes...?) 

(When might I convince you to call me simply by my *name*...?") 

Laurent offers that *sly* smile again. (Monsieur Blood...?) 

Jason laughs hard — 

And something loosens in Treville's chest that had been tight and tense and *difficult*. 

(You have always, always been a man of taste and distinction when it comes to your loves,) Laurent says. To Jason, he says, (Jason, then. Please, come to me.) 

(As you wish. Would tomorrow be all right? Perhaps after most of your Musketeers have left for the evening...?) 

(Absolutely. And... thank you. *Thank* you, and please call me Laurent.) 

(Thank *you*, Laurent,) Jason says. (Please, both of you, continue enjoying the desecration of that office. It's been wildly entertaining to watch.) 

Laurent coughs — 

Treville snickers *hard* — 

(Until we meet again...) 

And then Jason is gone — 

And the collar is still glowing in Laurent's hand — 

And — 

And Treville is here, right here with *this* brother, in one of the places where he belongs. 

"Yes... oh, little brother," Laurent says, licking his lips and studying him like he's the most fascinating subject in the world — 

Like — Treville shakes himself. "May I kneel?" 

Laurent growls — and flushes. "Do it. Do it for *me*." 

"Yes, big brother," Treville says, easing out of the warmth of Laurent's hold and kneeling up straight — 

Laurent stands *over* him — 

Looms so tall and *strong* — 

"My beautiful hound..." 

Treville nods and rumbles and bares his throat — 

"Do you accept this?" 

Treville nods and nods and rumbles more — 

"Forever?" 

Treville's cock jerks and he *yips* for it, nods and yips again — 

"Then let it bind us both, beautiful hound," Laurent says, and wraps the collar around his throat. "Let it bind and keep us the way we were always meant to be," he says, and tightens it just so. 

Treville pants and croons and shudders and *aches* — 

For a moment they're *both* glowing — 

And then Laurent slips the tongue in place — 

Treville gasps as the binding *grips* him like a warm, tight *fist* — 

*Laurent* gasps and grins like a *boy* — 

And then Laurent *hauls* him to his feet and walks him to the shelving. "I believe you said something about 'against the wall'..." 

Treville barks and grins and spreads his *legs*. 

"Good, good boy." 

end.


End file.
